


When I'm above the trees

by petalrock



Series: creek walk small talk [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Banter, Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute, creek - Freeform, nymph!Calum, we up in this mofo creek again, with special guest Stone the river otter, yeah i vibes with that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalrock/pseuds/petalrock
Summary: “Wait, don’t leave!”Michael’s head snaps up. There is a boy standing in the creek. There had not been a boy standing in the creek when Michael had been looking about five seconds ago. He’s got dark swoopy curls and an expression somewhere in the realm of pleading.“I’m sorry,” the boy says. “I just—you always sit on that log, and then the storm must have blown it away, and I only just noticed. But I put it back now, so you can stay.”
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Series: creek walk small talk [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208660
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	When I'm above the trees

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Taylor, the love of my life. Thank you for being such a good friend and for being co-president of the malum fan club with me. We truly are insufferable <3\. I love you. And thank you for picking the title for me. It's from happiness by Taylor (Swift. Not this Taylor). 
> 
> I really did not think this little AU would mean so much to me but now it sort of accidentally does. The first short I wrote at like 2 a.m. mid-existential crisis. This one I had my head screwed on a little better for and I think that's pretty evident. It's a prologue, technically, I suppose. 
> 
> I wanna say thank you to Molly for always being a voice of reason when I need one and for helping me be nicer to myself. And for being a really amazing writing coach of sorts. And friend. I love you.

Michael makes it the entire two mile trek to the creek without stopping. It has been a long-ass week, and finals are just around the corner. He’s recently discovered this little nature reserve within walking distance of his apartment, and it’s quickly become his go-to place to dissociate. He figures it’s marginally healthier to stare into the void outside in nature than shut up in his bedroom. 

He rounds the corner of the trail to find his favorite log sitting in the middle of the water. What the fuck? Apparently that storm on Wednesday was rougher than he'd realized. And apparently homophobic. This is a hate crime. Now where's he supposed to sit? 

He’s scanning the ground around him for, like, a dry patch in the gravel or something, when the water starts rushing behind him with increased vigor. He turns toward it, and. What the hell? His log is being lifted by the creek. Water is pooling around it, pulling it off the bottom and sending it floating along cheerfully in Michael’s direction. The water sets his log down on the ground in front of him, Moana-style, and recedes back into the stream. 

Michael stares at his log for about three solid Mississippis. Then he takes a couple of steps backwards. The moderately uncomfortable stump at a spot downstream is starting to sound really appealing. 

“Wait, don’t leave!” 

Michael’s head snaps up. There is a boy standing in the creek. There had not been a boy standing in the creek when Michael had been looking about five seconds ago. He’s got dark swoopy curls and an expression somewhere in the realm of pleading. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy says. “I just—you always sit on that log, and then the storm must have blown it away, and I only just noticed. But I put it back now, so you can stay.”

Alright. Several things to unpack there. Number one—

“How do you know I always sit here?”

Creek Boy falters. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, silently, like a fish. A cute fish, if Michael’s being honest. 

“I—well, you—I mean, this is my creek,” Creek Boy finally gets out. “And I don’t usually pay super close attention to visitors. But you’ve come a few times, and I noticed you.” 

“You noticed me?” Michael’s not used to being noticed. Well, that’s not true. He’s not used to being noticed for no reason. Usually, he has to be loud and put in work to take up space. 

“Well, yeah,” says Creek Boy. “You stand out.”

Michael’s stomach feels kind of fluttery. Is this flirting? Is he being flirted with right now? Probably not, given that it’s him. But whatever this is, he’s enjoying it. He should probably be more creeped out. He would definitely be more creeped out if this boy weren’t so cute. But he is cute. So. 

“Thank you, I think,” Michael says. He takes one step towards his log. Towards the boy still standing in the middle of the creek. “You’re pretty noticeable yourself.”

Creek Boy flushes a magnificent dark red. Michael takes a second to really look at him. Yeah, this boy is pretty. Dark hair, dark eyes, some tattoos on his left arm. Very round cheeks that look incredibly squish-able. T-shirt and jeans that are inexplicably dry. 

“Well, I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for about a decade,” Creek Boy says, turning to go. Where he’s headed, Michael can only guess. Back into the creek from whence he came, perhaps? “Enjoy your log.”

Michael bites back a  _ that’s what she said, _ and instead finds himself saying, “Wait, stay.”

He doesn’t want to stop talking to this creek kid. Michael takes two big steps over to his log and sits down. Patting the spot next to him, he looks at Creek Boy imploringly in a way that he hopes is cute and inviting, and not weird and stupid. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. But only if you tell me your name so I can stop calling you Creek Boy in my head.”

Creek Boy smiles a little and wades through the water, sitting down next to Michael. Up close, he smells like redwood trees and, unsurprisingly, creek. Clear, fresh water runoff from the mountains out west. 

“It’s Calum,” he says. “What’s yours?”

Now, Michael could be nice and normal and just tell Calum his name. But that’s boring and overrated. His other option is to take a risk and make fun of Calum. See how he takes it. If it backfires, Michael is going to look like kind of an asshole. But what else is new?

“What, you don’t already know my name? What kind of a stalker are you? I’m a little disappointed.”

“Well, I was trying to play it cool,” Calum says. “But I guess I never was good at subtlety. And now you know that I know your name.” He turns to look Michael in the eye and says, “Fred.”

It’s so unexpected that Michael forgets to put on his I’m With A New Person Laugh. He hears himself cackle way too loudly for the middle of the woods. Calum is grinning at him a little, and when their eyes meet, he smiles with enough force that his eyes crinkle in the corners. The butterfly in Michael’s stomach flaps hard. Oh boy. Literally, oh boy. 

“It’s Michael,” he says. 

“Right, that’s what I just said, Michael,” Calum says with a nod. He’s still smiling so wide. Michael can’t think about anything else. Except maybe the way his name sounds when Calum says it. It’s typical of Michael to catch feelings for a stranger thirty seconds into knowing them. But the strangers don’t usually reciprocate his energy quite like this. He may be in trouble. 

“So, Calum.” Michael wraps his arms around his knees and clasps his hands together so he can lean back a little on the log and get a better look at Calum. “What do you do down here, besides watch me?” 

“Oh, you know,” says Calum. “Creek stuff.” Calum looks at Michael expectantly. His eyes are really big and dark. Michael blinks at him. 

“What’s ‘creek stuff’?”

“Oh, just, like, making sure the water goes where it’s supposed to,” Calum says. Kind of vague, but okay. Also, what does that mean? “But I’m here every day. The real question is, why did you start coming here?”

That’s a good question. Why did Michael start coming here? A break from the monotony of college student life, maybe? It started that way, but creek walks are starting to become routine. It might be that the creek is becoming a safe place to be away from work and school. He can sit and think whatever he wants, or nothing at all. The white noise of the stream and the birdsong make a nice soundtrack to Michael’s internal monologue. It smells fresh and wild out here, too. The creek can clear a headache like no amount of ibuprofen. 

“It’s calm out here. It beats staring at the four white walls of my apartment.” He looks at Calum. “And it’s pretty.”

“It is,” Calum agrees, holding Michael’s gaze. This is a lot to handle right now. Pretty place, pretty boy. Maybe Michael’s not doing so badly in life. 

A splash from upstream startles them both. Michael gasps. A river otter is riding the current contentedly on its back. It twists around, sees Calum and Michael, and squeaks like a dog toy. Ah, shit, they must have scared it. 

“Hey, Stone!” Calum says, and Michael turns to stare at him. 

Calum’s full attention is on the otter, and he’s reaching a hand out, as if to beckon it over, or something. The otter chatters, and changes course slightly towards them. As soon as it’s shallow enough to stand, the otter comes bounding out of the creek right to Calum and rubs its little face against his hand. 

“Hi, little man, how’s your day been?” Calum says, scratching behind Stone the otter’s ears. 

Stone makes some funny clicking noises in the back of his throat. 

“Fish that far west, really? Wow, it must be warmer than I thought.” 

Stone purrs and bumps his head against Calum’s knee. 

Holy shit, is Calum having a legitimate conversation with this otter right now? Actually, you know what? This seems entirely on brand given the minuscule amount of information Michael has gathered from this boy. He should not be surprised. 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to the family, then, bud,” Calum says. Stone makes a noise like a Chihuahua. Is this creature an endless bank of sound effects? 

“Oh! This is Michael, he’s a friend,” Calum says. Getting introduced as Calum’s friend to a river otter is making Michael feel some typa way. “You can say hi, go ahead,” Calum says to Stone. 

The otter waddles over on his adorable little otter legs and peers at Michael curiously. It’s the cutest thing Michael has ever seen. Calum shifts beside him on the log. Okay, second cutest. 

Michael slowly offers a hand, and Stone gives it a sniff. His nose is cold and wet and it tickles Michael’s palm. He grins. Stone allows Michael to rub the top of his head for a few seconds. Then, he turns and bounds back into the water with a squeak. 

“Bye, Stone,” Calum calls after him. Stone the otter chirps happily and resumes his floating downstream, disappearing around the bend in the river. Calum turns back to Michael.

“It’s good luck to see a river otter, you know.” He gives Michael yet another sunny smile. 

“Oh yeah?” says Michael. “Lucky me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: please understand that I have never pet a river otter because I value having my fingers attached to my hands. But I have heard them make every single noise described here, and then some. They are weird little creatures, those mustelids. 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr! Cringeycal <<33


End file.
